Heart of Steel
by HarlequinRavenwing
Summary: Grey Warden-Commander and mage Elleann Amell and Acting Knight-Commander Cullen of the Templars set out to bring the renegade, Anders to justice. Though each lays claim to the rebel, they must face not only confrontation due to problems caused by the mage/templar conflict, but also deal with feelings for eachother that they thought long forgotten... Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

_**Author's note: This story follows on from the events of DA:O and DA:2, and as such will contain spoilers. ** _

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad…Ten Years Ago._

"So what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, Knight-Commander. There's no more I can say. I acted in the best interest of the Circle. That is, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"The best interest of the Circle…?" Knight-Commander Greagoir slammed his mailed fist into the scorched wood of the table as he struggled to contain his ever-increasing anger. "Three apprentices dead, Cullen! Three! And you have nothing to say? Just what in the hells did you think you were doing?"

"I thought…I thought…" Cullen felt his resolve beginning to crumble under the penetrating gaze of the Knight-Commander, but still he could not look away from the man. "Forgive me Ser, but given recent events I had to be certain they were contained, that they were no longer a threat. That they were...were…"

"Dead? Murdered? Slaughtered like common darkspawn?" Greagoir's rage seemed to heat the room, so great was its intensity. "You are a Templar, Cullen! You have a sworn duty to protect not only those without the Tower, but those within! Those apprentices, though seriously misguided, were a far cry from the fanatics who tuned this place into a charnel house! Did you not stop to think that you should have come to me with this?"

"I…I regret I did not, Ser."

"Did you not think it was a good idea to bring them to the attention of the First-Enchanter? That they could then be judged by their peers and then made tranquil for their crimes? Maker's Wrath, boy! Can't you see that they were no more than children…?"

"They were blood mages, Ser Greagoir! Filthy accursed blood mages just waiting to become abominations!" Cullen felt hot tears beginning to spill freely from his eyes. "They would have summoned demons again and again, and then they would have slaughtered each and every one of us just as soon as they got the chance…but only after they had had their fun! Can't _you_ see? Can't you see what they would have done to you and to our brothers? I know just what they are capable of!

You forget that it was I that endured Uldred's torment as a plaything for his whim! He took my memories, my innermost thoughts and he twisted them and corrupted them until I no longer knew friend from foe! The depraved visions he gave me, of my friends, my family and of her...I mean...Dammit! Back then, even you who could not help me! It took a Grey Warden to free me from that nightmare!"

"And may I remind you, that very same Grey Warden also happened to be a mage."

Cullen started as the soft voice of First-Enchanter Irving broke into their conversation.

"We are not all blood-mages and abominations, lad. Surely, Warden-Commander Amell herself is proof of that?" Irving sighed heavily and shook his head. "She may well now be the Hero of Ferelden, but she was also once a mage of this Circle and one of my most gifted students."

"Warden-Commander Amell is...a most exceptional woman." The vivid memory of her cool grey eyes and delicately pale face framed by a curtain of raven-black hair brought a momentary stab of pain to Cullen's heart. "Her courage and bravery are known to all, and her will is as strong as any Templar's. She would never allow herself to be corrupted by any demon."

"And yet, if Knight-Commander Greagoir had his way, then Warden Amell would now be one of the tranquil."

Cullen flashed a questioning look toward to old mage and Irving nodded slowly.

"It's true." Greagoir stated flatly, dragging Cullen's attention away from the searching blue eyes of the First-Enchanter. "Had my judgement not been over-ruled by the Grey Warden Commander that came here looking for new recruits, then Elleann Amell would never have become the Hero she is today. I was wrong to judge her before hearing all the facts...as you were wrong to judge those apprentices without giving them the opportunity to justify their actions."

"But...but they were practicing blood-magic!" Cullen gasped, desperately trying to hold onto his convictions despite his heart filling with uncertainty.

"Oh…of that fact, sadly we are in no doubt and believe me, we would have dealt with them harshly enough." Irving laid a hand upon his shoulder and a look of sadness crossed his face. "But it is not the reason for your actions that bring you to us now. It is the manner in which you chose to resolve this matter."

"The simple fact is you can no longer continue to serve with us here at Kinloch Hold." Greagoir held up a hand to wave off any protest before Cullen could even speak. "Your actions have condemned you just as surely as you condemned those apprentices."

Cullen felt his knees begin to buckle as the weight of his decision began to press down upon his shoulders. "You mean…I am to be expelled from the order?"

"From the order, no…from Kinloch hold, yes." For the first time since he had walked into the Knight-Commander's chambers, Greagoir looked at him with something akin to concern. "For though you ignored procedure and took it upon yourself to act as judge and executioner, the apprentices _were indeed _practicing blood-magic and therefore, in the eyes of the Maker, as guilty as any other maleficar or abomination.

However, this blatant disregard for both the doctrines of the order and the lives of the other mages here cannot be excused. You have become a liability to the stability of the Circle Tower of Ferelden and have brought the order into disrepute. Yet despite this, your actions have not gone unnoticed by those outside Ferelden, and I have been approached by another Knight-Commander who feels that she may be able to…help you to find your place amongst the Templars once more and bring discipline and some much needed-routine into your life."

"Where am I to be sent, Ser?" Cullen's voice was barely above a whisper.

"North to the Free Marches, to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith at the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall."

Kirkwall, City of Chains.

The former Tevinter city was known throughout Thedas as being forged from the bones of the slaves who poured in through its twisted gates. Even now, although the slaves were long gone, it was said the foundries there still belched out black smoke, shrouding the poorer areas of the city in a thick layer of dirt that was as grey as the morals of its inhabitants, and the welcome that awaited you was as jagged and deceptively dangerous as the rocks that surrounded the harbour. Not for nothing did the great bronze statues of the old gods open their mouths in silent scream of warning, and yet people still flocked to Kirkwall's shores in search of new trade and new lives.

For as much as there was poverty and misery contained within its walls, there was also great opportunity.

Under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, the Templar order stationed there had grown to be a major power in the City. She was said to rule with an iron-fist, dominating even the Viscount himself and her grip on the Circle of Magi there was said to be firm but fair.

Cullen closed his eyes and let out a profound sigh.

Maybe Kirkwall could be the place to escape the horrors that still visited his dreams and to banish the pain and torment that still wracked his heart.

"When am I to leave, Ser?"

"On the morrow. You are to gather your things tonight and then Kester will meet you at the lakeside to take you across to shore." Greagoir's anger seemed to have dissolved into a kind of sullen resignation. "From there, you should make your way to West Hill and meet up with Knight-Corporal Staven and his recruits. They too are headed for Kirkwall and arrangements have been made for you to travel with them."

"Thank you Knight-Commander. Then I should go and pack, if…if that is all?"

Greagoir nodded once. "That is all, Cullen. You are dismissed."

The finality of his words seemed suddenly more fearsome than all the demons of the Fade and shaking like a leaf, Cullen took his leave of the Knight-Commander, the First-Enchanter and of Kinloch Hold.

* * *

"You had every right to demand he stand trial, old friend." Greagoir finally felt his shoulders sag in fatigue as the young Templar left his chambers. "What he did to those apprentices…I would not have blamed you if you had asked for his head."

"And what good would it do to add one more death to this terrible tragedy." Irving slowly shook his head and stroked his beard. "This Tower was once a place of learning and of the Art. Now I have lived long enough to see more death than I had ever hoped to experience in my lifetime."

Greagoir watched in silence as the elderly mage sat down heavily into one of the great chairs by the fire and then sighed. "But still, Cullen acted in a way unbefitting of a Templar. He killed those youths without trial or official sanction. I am, or rather _was_ his senior officer. All those years of training and discipline. Did I really fail him so badly, Irving? Was I the cause of all this?"

Grabbing a bottle of rich red wine, the Knight-Commander joined the First-Enchanter by the flames and poured out two full glasses.

"I hardly think so, my friend." Irving answered with a sad smile, before pausing to take a drink. "Do not forget, that it was that fiend Uldred who tried to turn the Tower into a place of evil. Perhaps if that…madman hadn't been allowed to move amongst the young ones unchecked, then I would have picked up on his intentions before he managed to corrupt the minds of those we were sworn to educate and protect. If there is blame to be found in this matter, it could be said to be as much mine as yours, yet the truth of it all is that the real blame lies squarely with Uldred and no other. I saw the things he did to my fellow mages. I saw the creatures and vile passions he unleashed upon his victims and in that boy Cullen, he saw not only a victim but a symbol of oppression and hatred that he could twist and destroy. That the lad retained any sanity at all is actually a testament to your training. A lesser mind would have crumbled under the horrors he was forced to endure."

"That does not excuse him executing those three young fools who legally should have stood before the Chantry to confess their crimes before he decided to bloody-well lop off their heads." Greagoir angrily swallowed a large gulp of wine. "Yes, they were blood-mages, but in acting without the authority of his superiors...well, it was almost akin to murder!"

"You misunderstand me, old friend. I do not seek to excuse him." Irving leaned forward and regarded him intently. "Indeed, I am sickened by the actions which were so-readily taken against my students. If he had not been compelled to confess to you, then I fear what would have happened to those other apprentices whom he decided to suspect of practicing blood-magic. The lad is deeply troubled, Greagoir and tormented by his past experiences. His distrust of magic and mages seems only to fuel those fires of doubt and fear, and in that, the teachings of the Chantry and the Templars have much to play a part."

The First-Enchanter's eyes seemed to bore into his soul and Greagoir dropped his gaze.

"Still..." Irving continued, relaxing back into his chair. "There are some mages who say that a quick, clean death is preferable to a half-life existing among the tranquil. Perhaps in ending their lives with his blade, the lad did them a kindness of sorts...and it is for that reason, I find myself feeling more compassionate than I would have expected. That is why I asked you to show mercy."

"I am not sure that sending him to Kirkwall is an act of mercy." Greagoir stared into the dancing flames and frowned. "I had suggested to my superiors that Cullen be sent to one of the rural posts, where he could have time to recover from his mental scars and reflect upon his actions in order to better understand the relationships and responsibilities of Templar and Mage. When they told me he was to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith...it was not a choice I would have made."

"We rarely get to choose the path of our destiny, Greagoir. The Maker has his plan and we simply follow it as we must. It is the journey we take along the way that makes us who we are. You know, I never told you but just before her harrowing, Elleann Amell came to me concerned that there had been gossip about a certain Templar of our recent acquaintance that seemed to be developing an affection for her."

"You're not saying that Cul..."

"I am not naming any names as I should not wish innocent parties to suffer, but needless to say the attraction came to nothing and it does give me hope that any Templar who, on the surface of it, may appear to hate mages and all they stand for, could let his heart be swayed by something as simple as love. Maybe it is through these honest, uncomplicated emotions that all of us may finally begin to understand one another and their place in the universe."

"An idealistic enough sentiment, but that is all it is. Pure sentiment." Greagoir snorted and drained the last of his wine. "It took a Blight for Amell to find her way in the world, and I should think it will take a damn sight more to put Cullen on the path to recovery, especially where he is going."

"He may yet surprise you."

"Then in that case, I shall be glad to be wrong. But I fear old age is making fools of us both lately!"

"Maybe another glass of that wine will make us feel less foolish?"

"I doubt it, but at least we may care a little less."

"Then go ahead and pour, for there is no fool, like a drunken old fool."

"I'll drink to that, old friend. I'll drink to that..."


	2. The Halls of Weisshaupt

**THE HALLS OF WEISSHAUPT**

Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Elleann Amell scowled as her quill-pen spat a dark blob of ink directly onto the parchment where she was trying to sign her name. Whether it was just one of her pet hates, or the result of the many years she had spent learning to neatly copy out spell formulas in the Circle library, just seeing the offending spatter was enough to make her grasp the document with both hands, scrunch it into a ball and then hurl it to the floor with a snarl.

It was followed shortly afterward by her inkwell, a half empty goblet of wine, the remainder of her evening meal along with the plate, and the leather gauntlets she'd removed in order to sign the blasted document in the first place!

Trouble was, the newly created mess on the floor of her quarters did nothing to improve her mood, and Elleann groaned as ink began to soak into the aged floorboards and creep towards the tasselled rug in front of the fire.

_Great_...

After spending a few moments frantically searching for the piece of ragged cloth she usually kept for wiping away dewy condensation from the windows, she quickly dunked it into the basin of tepid water on her dresser, dropped to her knees to begin clearing up the ink before it permanently stained everything it came into contact with. Unfortunately all she seemed to succeed in doing was to dilute the mixture even more, and send it spreading ever outward at an extremely alarming rate, not to mention turning her hands a particularly interesting shade of violet...

"Andraste's bloody arse!"

Scowling as she scrubbed furiously at the floorboards, Elleann felt hot tears of frustration began to burn in the corner of her eyes as a particularly unpleasant knot of tension began to twist inside her gut. All too quickly, the mounting frustration turned into bitter rage as the ink stubbornly refused to be contained, and suddenly the soggy cloth was sent flying across the room to splat rather unceremoniously on the wall above her armour stand before dropping down with a plop onto the pauldrons beneath.

Well fan-bloody-tastic.

Now there was even more of a mess and instead of just needing to clean up the spill on the floor, Elleann would have to take a fresh cloth to her armour to see that the watery liquid didn't leave unpleasant streaks in the polished drakeskin hide.

And just how long was that going to take?

And just why had she done that in the first place?

And for how long could she pretend to herself that this pathetic display was really just about the spilled ink, and not about the Grey Warden who had just used the most powerful, destructive magic to raze the Chantry of Kirkwall to the ground causing the deaths of the Grand Cleric and many of her followers, starting a conflict between mages, templars and the Chantry that was likely to tear Thedas apart?

"Maker's breath, Anders…what have you done...?"

Sitting back on her heels, Elleann finally succumbed to the overwhelming emotions that she had been struggling to contain since she received word from her fellow Wardens in Kirkwall. Anger, shame and guilt all pulled mercilessly at her heart as she was reminded of the happier times he had shared with the irreverent, renegade mage she had met all those years ago during the darkspawn attack on Amarathine.

When she had first encountered him, Anders had been standing over the bodies of a couple of templars who appeared to have been burned to death within the walls of Vigil's Keep. At the time he had protested his innocence, blaming the attacking darkspawn horde for the deaths of his escorts and explaining that he was just another apostate on the run from what he considered to be a suffocating existence within the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Though initially doubtful of his claims, Elleann had been willing to give him the benefit of a doubt and eventually his easy-going manner and warm, friendly nature more than convinced her he had been telling the truth. His willingness to fight at her side as the darkspawn threatened to overwhelm the Keep only reinforced her belief that he was actually a good man, and as the tide of battle slowly turned in their favour, it was Anders' own abilities as a Spirit Healer that kept many of the men and women of Vigil's Keep from succumbing to their wounds that day.

Soon after the battle, a templar had arrived along with a contingent of Ferelden soldiers led by none other than King Alistair himself. Whereas Alistair had journeyed to the Keep to see first-hand the situation faced by the Grey Wardens, the templar, a certain Ser Rylock was only interested in securing Anders and escorting him back to Kinloch Hold to face charges as an apostate. The imperious manner in which she demanded that Elleann surrender him into her custody showed her obvious disdain, and it must have been even more galling to have to ask this from yet another mage! However the look on her face when Elleann had chosen instead to conscript Anders into the Wardens was just priceless and on reflection, the King himself had also done rather a good job of not adding to her humiliation by laughing _too_ loudly as Rylock turned an ugly shade of red and stormed out of the Keep.

It had been a shame that Alistair was not able to stay for the joining ceremonies that night, but then if he had, he too would have been caught up in the events that soon followed.

The darkspawn horde had attacked again, this time on two fronts, and swelling their ranks were the twisted, wretched progeny of a crazed brood-mother. On top of that, a darkspawn emissary calling itself 'The Architect' had offered his assistance against his more mindless, savage kin, and as if the implications of an intelligent darkspawn army was not enough to worry about, Elleann soon found herself facing a decision that had haunted her ever since.

The decision to abandon the city of Amaranthine in order to preserve the warden stronghold of Vigil's Keep.

Strategically speaking, it was the only real choice she had, but that still hadn't made it any easier to bear when she had sat amongst the rubble of what had once been family homes and thriving businesses, looking out over the charred, half-eaten bodies of the dead civilians that had looked to the Wardens for protection.

It had been Anders that had found her there, brooding over her decision and trying to hide her tears amongst the raindrops that were pouring from the skies as if the Maker himself was grieving. At his approach, Elleann had tried to pretend that everything was fine and that as a Commander of the Grey she was fully prepared to take responsibility for her decision and simply do what had to be done. However, he had seen straight through her bravado straight away and simply gathered her up into his arms, holding her tightly and softly stroking her hair as she wept.

It was the closest she had ever felt to a man, since the relationship she had once shared with Zevran Arainai.

In some ways they were very much alike, Anders and her former lover, Zevran. Both incorrigibly flirtatious, both lacking any respect for authority and established order and both very, very sure of themselves. But where her relationship with Zevran had been an intense physical expression of their mutual attraction to one another, Elleann's relationship with Anders was different and it blossomed into a comfortable, uncomplicated friendship.

When she was recalled back to Weisshaupt Fortress, Anders travelled with her and was given the position of tutor to new Warden mage recruits. He excelled in the post and was incredibly popular with the younger members of the Order. They responded well to his unorthodox style of teaching, and his quick wit and ready smile ensured he was popular and well liked. Each new day had seemed to bring contentment and peace to his life and for a while, it seemed to be going so well.

However, despite appearances, Anders was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his role and responsibilities. Whether it was the fact his life had fallen into what he considered to be a rather regular and increasingly boring routine, or maybe it was knowing that he could have been called upon at any minute to serve in the Deep Roads, the final straw came when he was asked to give a lecture on the nature and deeds of the Architect to the mages, apprentices and templars of Kinloch Hold.

His first reaction had been to flatly refuse, stating that the Circle was nothing more than a symbol of chantry oppression and a prison for those guilty only of being born with the ability to use magic.

'_It was a hell'_ he had insisted, _'a hell guarded by templars who abused their positions as and when it suited them. As for the Senior Enchanters, they were just as bad if not worse! Nothing more than deluded old men and doddering women trying to convince every free mage in Thedas that they should just accept their lot as the natural order of things, and not long for a life free of constant observation and control'_. According to Anders, life in the Circle was _'an unendurable torture'_ and _'an existence that he would not have wished on his worst enemy'_.

For her part, Elleann had never found living in Kinloch hold to be quite that oppressive, and First Enchanter Irving had been more like a father to her than a gaoler! It was true that the other Senior Enchanters and mage tutors had often been strict in their teachings, especially to apprentices like herself who specialised in Entropy and Spirit magic, a school of study that was also not terribly popular with the other students, but she generally had some good memories of her time in the Circle Tower.

'_And yet here we sit.'_ He had said then, his expression both accusative and sad at the same time. _'We are Grey Wardens, able to breathe the free air of Thedas without fear of being hunted down by the Templars as apostates. Yet our freedom came with a price, did it not? The taint will kill us both in the end, and yet we took the Oath willingly because deep down, we wanted this chance…you wanted this chance. You are no more a Circle Mage now than I am! And doesn't it say something that we'd both rather spend the rest of our rather shortened lives fighting darkspawn, than be stuck in that bloody tower surrounded by templars who'd rather see us both dead than living our own lives outside those walls for fear we'll turn into demons? If they seriously want me to go back there, I'll give them a damn sight more than a lecture on the nature of the bloody darkspawn…!'_

'_You have your orders, Anders! Maker's breath, it's only for a few days! Just do your duty as a Warden and as an educator, and leave your damned politics out of it! They have no place in the Order!'_

'_Then maybe neither do I.'_

Anders had said the words quietly, throwing them back over his shoulder as he walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance. With hindsight, Elleann should have known then that he intended to desert. She should have stopped him, gone after him and tried to talk some sense into the man she had called friend, but anger had stilled her tongue in her mouth and his words had disturbed her more than he realised.

There had been so much truth in what he said, but she couldn't admit it back then.

Maker forgive her…could she even admit it to herself now?

"Damn you, Anders!" Elleann snarled as she drove her fist into the wooden floor. "Damn you to the hells and back!"

"Excuse me, Commander. Are you alright?"

Jumping quickly to her feet, Elleann span around to see a familiar figure standing in her open doorway.

"Bloody hell, Nathaniel! Must you sneak up on people like that?"

Shifting uncomfortably as he took in the scene before him, Nathaniel Howe shrugged and offered her a sympathetic smile. "I did knock, several times in fact…but I'm guessing this a bad time?"

"Yes…no...well, not really." Elleann coloured as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe her hands clean on her robe. Deliberately avoiding his concerned gaze, she glanced around the room for the crumpled parchment she'd been working on earlier and then handed it to the swarthy rogue. "I'm guessing you already know what this is?"

Nathaniel nodded as he carefully unfolded the document, scanned the contents and then passed it back to her. "Anders, I see. They're sending you then. Can't say I'm surprised, but I am sorry."

"Don't be. I volunteered." She sighed softly and then gestured to a chair by the hearth. "After all, as Warden-Commander it is my duty to seek out those who have broken their oaths and abandoned their responsibilities, before they disgrace the good name of the Wardens, and become a danger to themselves and others."

Nathaniel sat down with a snort. "Did the First Warden use those words?"

"He used those _exact_ words." Elleann replied, taking up an iron poker and stirring up the embers of the fire. "Though I think we're way beyond the _danger to others_ bit."

"So it would seem."

Nathaniel fell quiet as Elleann finally settled into the chair opposite and held her head in her hands. The former assassin knew her well enough to leave her to gather her thoughts, and she was grateful for his patient silence as she waited for the hard lump in her throat to dissipate, and the tears to disappear from her burning eyes.

In truth, he had known Anders just as long as she had, fought alongside them both during the siege at Vigil's Keep and defended him when his rebellious ideas brought him into conflict with other former Circle mages in the Wardens. Maker knows it must have hurt him almost as much as it hurt her to find out that the man they thought they knew had just left the Wardens without a word.

"I can't believe he did this." She eventually groaned, drawing strength from the rogue's stoic presence. "I mean he was always rather vocal about his beliefs, but to actively murder people…I don't know. It just doesn't seem like him."

"Maybe it's not." Nathaniel said softly, a strange look on his face. "There are rumours that suggest he is now…an abomination of sorts."

"Oh no…" Elleann paled as her hand shot up to her mouth. "You're telling me that Anders has succumbed to a demon?"

Nathaniel solemnly shook his head and for the first time, she realised that he too was as troubled by this turn of events as she was. "No Commander, not a demon." He swallowed hard and then looked at her intently. "My sources tell me that Anders is now one with a spirit of vengeance, the spirit we once knew as Justice."

Elleann felt her stomach lurch as the enormity of Nathaniel's statement crashed over her like a freezing wave. "Justice? As in 'possessed Kristoff's dead body', Justice?

"The very same…I think. In truth, I do not really understand such things."

Elleann shakily rose to her feet and began to pace about the room. "But Justice was a good spirit, an honourable, noble spirit. He would never have approved of murder on that scale. It goes against everything he stood for…"

"Apparently not anymore." Nathaniel frowned and bade her take a seat once more. "In taking Justice into himself, it seems that both Anders and the spirit were changed in ways that neither of them could have imagined. Anders' outrage concerning the treatment of mages at the hands of the templars became something that fuelled Justice's need to act in their defence, and Justice's drive to avenge those whom he saw as wronged and oppressed began to affect the way Anders thought and behaved. Thus Justice and Anders merged and became Vengeance, with a single purpose in mind."

"_To end templar oppression and free all mages from the tyranny of the Chantry!_" Elleann flashed Nathaniel a sad smile. "I'm a mage too remember? I've read Ander's manifesto and can't say I didn't agree with all of it, but this…this beyond any rational act. This is extremism of the worst kind."

"And such things inevitably lead to yet more extremism." Nathaniel face darkened. "In doing what he did, Anders has not only divided the mages themselves into those who believe in what he is doing and those who oppose him, but the Chantry itself is falling apart with divisions even among the Templar order."

Elleann nodded. "I have heard as much from First Enchanter Irving. He wrote to me not long ago saying that both he and Knight Commander Greagoir were facing increasing pressure from both within and without the Circle to bring about changes that would likely result in the whole place coming apart at the seams. If not for Alist…if not for the actions of the King, then things would certainly have deteriorated fast."

"As they are likely to throughout Thedas."

"Shit..."

A chill wind had begun to blow outside, howling across the vast steppes like the roar of a mighty dragon. A sudden gust caused the flames in the hearth to leap up in a violent dance that caused the logs in the grade to crackle and spit like an angry cat.

Just like Ser Pouncealot when confronted by a genlock.

Only Anders would ever have taken a kitten into the Deep Roads…

"I have to find him." Elleann said suddenly, and with a certainty she knew had been there since she first received the report. "I have to find him and bring him back before the Templars catch up with him, otherwise who knows what he'll do."

"After everything that's happened, I dread to think." Rising slowly to his feet, Nathaniel pulled out a note from his pocket. "Here. This is name and address of the source I was referring to earlier."

"Varric Tethras, The Hanged Man, Lowtown, Kirkwall?"

"He is…was…also a friend of Anders' while he was living there, and he may be able to help point you in the right direction."

Elleann nodded and extended her hand. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

The former rogue clasped her hand warmly and then pulled her into a rough embrace. "Be careful, Commander. This whole thing is another powder keg waiting to go off, and with you being a mage and all…"

"I'll be careful." Elleann reassured him and clapped him fondly on the back. "You know, I think I preferred facing the Blight to hunting a friend, but then again I suppose things can't get any worse."

"I should say not." Nathaniel smiled warmly and then turned to go. As he neared the door, he turned and paused. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You may wish to call in on the acting Knight-Commander while you're in Kirkwall. He's been busy trying to hold the city together until the issue of a new Viscount has been settled, but he may have some leads on Anders' whereabouts."

Elleann raised a dubious eyebrow. "While I'm sure he wouldn't object to being visited by the Commander of the Grey, the fact that she's a mage may be a little like rubbing salt in the wound, don't you think?"

"You need not worry, Commander." Nathaniel said as he placed his hand on the latch of the door. "I've heard that Ser Cullen is much more grounded than his over-zealous predecessor."

"Ser Cullen? Acting Knight-Commander Cullen…?"

"That's correct. You may have encountered him before. Apparently he was stationed at Kinloch Hold for a time…" A bell chimed loudly in the high tower and Nathaniel groaned. "Ah forgive me but I really should see the Warden Chief Scout. The darkspawn are on the move again beneath Kal Hirol and I must make my report. 'Til next we meet Commander, a goodnight to you."

"And to you." Elleann said softly. "Take care, Nathaniel."

As the heavy door finally closed behind him, Elleann's mind was already plucking at the strings of her memory like a bard playing a lute and surprisingly, the melancholy song of Ser Cullen was as haunting now as it had been in her youth.

* * *

_**Kinloch Hold, twelve years ago…**_

_A student of both the entropic and spirit schools of magic, Elleann Amell often found herself alone. The desire to learn how to properly recite the words needed for a particularly potent hex, or to cast a walking bomb spell so that it became virulent and infected others, was not something that had been easily understood by her fellow apprentices, and aside from Jowan and a few other close friends, they usually kept a wary distance. Those that followed the primal school thought such magic was dark and insidious, and the apprentice healers of the creation school thought it was only one small step away from the reviled and forbidden blood magic. Almost every day she would hear them whispering behind her back…_

_M__ind witch._

_Necromancer._

_Not to mention the other less inventive names._

_A part of her could understand that their hostility came from ignorance. The tutors had explained that most people feared that which they did not understand, and magic-users were no different from any other person in that respect. But it still hurt sometimes, and now that Jowan was having additional training, she more often than not found herself left alone with only her spellbooks for company._

_Well, maybe not entirely alone… _

_Heavy armoured footsteps echoed in the tower library as the templar made his usual rounds. He was tall, well-built and as handsome a young man as Elleann had ever seen, and there was something about him that made her feel like a naïve school-girl with a childish crush every time she saw him. With his coppery hair and bright, olive-green eyes, he always seemed to be there when she sought seclusion in the quiet room to read or to study her craft, and all too easily she would be distracted by his melancholy smile when he passed by her desk. _

_She used to live for the moments when they would pass in the corridors, taking secret and guilty pleasures should she chance to brush his hand or catch his eye, and she found herself longing to be alone with him in ways that were as intimate and passionate as they were dangerous and forbidden. _

_If magic was her truest love, then Ser Cullen was her most secret desire._

_It was an unfortunate truth that the study of magic was laden with many dangers. The Senior Enchanters and mage tutors were aware that a single mistake or lapse in judgement could have disastrous consequences, and demonic possession and blood magic were a real threat to all mages whether trained or not. The sad fact was that stamping out such things required a certain amount of vigilance, and this vigilance was most keenly observed by those serving in the templar garrison._

_Often it led to friction between the armoured knights and their young mage charges. Some of templars saw only demons and abominations in the face of every mage, just as some of the mages saw only religious fanaticism and self-righteous judgement on the face of every templar. It was not an ideal situation and tensions in the tower could sometimes build to uncomfortable levels, but during those times First Enchanter Irving would step in and remind everyone that tolerance and acceptance were as important skills to learn as mana control._

_When it came to Ser Cullen though, it was control of her own heart that Elleann longed for._

_They had quickly gotten past the awkward nodding and smiling stage, and would now stop to talk to eachother as they moved through the tower. So often would they take the time the time to speak, that the other apprentices had noticed and would frequently comment to one another that Elleann had an admirer….only when they knew she was listening of course. However, such careless gossip was likely to likely to result in a misunderstanding that could cause problems for both Ser Cullen and herself and as their friendship grew, it became harder and harder to hide the growing attraction she felt toward him not just physically, but also on a deeper, more emotional level. _

_So she had suggested meeting elsewhere, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues that could easily end up putting both of them in an awkward position. At first, the Circle courtyard became a place of retreat, and when duties and study had no claim on their time, they would spend many hours playing chess together, sat in competitive yet companionable silence. In the end Cullen always complimented her on her winning strategies with a smile that made her heart melt, but even here the eyes of his fellow templars were always watching, suspicious perhaps that somehow she had bewitched him… _

_It was then she had suggested meeting in one of the unused storerooms, atop the tall tower itself. If there was no one to observe their meetings, then no-one could get the wrong idea._

_Oh, the folly of decisions made with such good intentions…_

_She could still see him as clearly now as she had that night. Even in the cramped, dusty room, he looked like a knight from the old tales with the moonlight gleaming off his shining armour and his handsome face, slightly flushed from climbing the many stairs that led up there. His muscular frame was evident even beneath the steel plating he habitually wore, and the way he held his head as he looked about showed off his smooth cheekbones, strong chin and firm jaw. When his olive eyes fell upon her, her heart skipped a beat and as she approached, he held out a massive gauntleted hand and gently took hold of hers, before lifting it to his lips._

_The gesture had both thrilled and shaken her._

_They had sat together upon an old chaise, the awkwardness returning as they realised that this was the first time they had been truly alone. The conversation had been somewhat stilted, just talking about inanities as neither of them was willing to break through the barrier of friendship that had developed between them. Yet each longed to do so, she was sure of it, and with every lingering look, they drew closer and closer together until she felt Cullen's sweetened breath hot against her cheek._

_Instantly she pulled back. There was more danger in this room than there was in the whole bloody tower, and she could not keep the bitter self-reproachment from showing on her face._

_Confused, Ser Cullen had reached out toward her with a questioning gaze, but in that moment she knew that her actions were as likely to damn him as to show her affection for him. Whatever childish, selfish notions of fairy-tale romance she held could easily see him clapped in irons and sent away, as well as seeing herself brought before the First Enchanter for punishment._

_So she had rejected him, feigning ignorance and surprise that he should think of her that way as they were just friends and as a templar, he should have known better. It almost broke her heart to see Cullen so wretchedly treated, especially by the very girl who had come to care for him so much, but it had to be done._

_It had to end before it even began…_

_And so once again, Elleann threw herself into her studies and any spare time she had, she shared with Jowan or with the few others she called friend. She became a diligent pupil, studious and dedicated, and decided that her commitment to magic must come before any commitment to a man. She would study hard, successfully pass her Harrowing and become the mage she had always hoped to be._

_The very idea that she could do all this and share her feelings with another, a templar for Maker's sake…no, it couldn't be done. It was surely nothing more than the fanciful musings of a young woman looking for love in all the wrong places. _

_Ser Cullen was a templar, and she was a mage._

_That was simply the way of it._

_Of course she had seen him afterwards, quite often really. He still attended his duties and walked his route, only now the only glances he directed her way were merely polite and impersonal. Even after her Harrowing, when she found out he was to be the templar that ended her life had a demon taken her, he still seemed distant and cool. Gone was the warmth from his eyes, and gone was the smile that used to brighten the room. Instead there was only a melancholy air about him, a sense that he regretted their friendship and that it pained him to even speak with her._

* * *

Elleann sighed heavily.

She could not have known then that Ser Cullen's feelings ran so deeply, or that she would encounter him once more after she had left the Circle and joined the Grey Wardens. Finding him trapped in the Tower after it had been overrun with demons and abominations had been one thing, but finding that he still cared for her and wanted her as much as she had wanted him, it had affected her more than she cared to admit.

And this gave her pause for thought…

Now that so much time had passed, now that it had been over ten years since they last looked upon eachother, how would he react on seeing her?

Certainly she had moved on with her life, helping to end a civil war, defeating the Blight and becoming a Commander of the Grey, and obviously Cullen was doing well, although ending up Acting Knight-Commander of Kirkwall probably wasn't the greatest position right now, but she couldn't help but wonder about his personal life.

Elleann had been in a stable relationship of sorts with Zevran, the elven assassin and unlikely Hero of Ferelden, at least right up until the point they decided to part ways when he returned to Antiva. Since then she had known other men, and willingly shared their beds on long, cold nights, but she had never really committed to anyone. Never felt enough to want to share more than just her body with them, despite the fact that some of them could have been considered a perfect match.

She had to wonder then, so what had happened to Cullen? Was he involved? Was he married? Did he have children? Was he happy?

So many questions raced through her mind, and yet none of them were really concerned with the matter at hand…that of Anders.

Realising that she had let herself be side-tracked, Elleann angrily shrugged aside her thoughts and crossed to the dresser in the corner. If she was going to Kirkwall, she would need to travel light and fast. She could wear her armour, and any additional clothing would need to be packed into the knapsack she carried. The magical, bladed staff she wielded could easily be mistaken for a glaive usually carried by a warrior, and that at least would give her a chance of not being recognised as a mage the moment she walked in through the gates.

Luckily she had already made arrangements to send ahead word of her visit to the office of the Viscount, and with any luck they would be prepared for the arrival of a Grey Warden in the city and…

"Bollocks." She muttered under her breath.

Gathering the last of her things, Elleann Amell groaned as she realised the courier would almost be there by now, and she had accidentally just informed Ser Cullen that she was personally coming to see him.

Damn.

Then again, maybe this way at least they could both prepare for what was sure to be a somewhat interesting reunion.

She could only hope that it would be a pleasant one.


	3. Knight-Commander

KNIGHT-COMMANDER

The skies were cloudy over Kirkwall, and the bitter wind blowing in from the Waking Sea lent a salty aftertaste to the frigid air. The great fires that burned in the braziers around the Gallows Courtyard crackled and danced as they struggled to maintain their warm amber light against the stormy cold, and the templar guards that dutifully held their positions at the southern gates, shivered against the brutal onslaught.

As he watched the last remnants of the passing day disappearing into the horizon, Acting Knight-Commander Cullen frowned and pulled hard on his gauntlets as he tried to flex some warmth back into his aching fingers. He failed to stifle a groan as the tinny sound of rain spattering against his armour preceded a small but fierce rainstorm, and he ducked into a nearby archway as it began to lash violently at the ground below. From this relatively sheltered position, Cullen observed his fellow templars standing stoically in place as the rain played a percussive melody upon their plate, and he made a mental note to ask the quartermaster to make sure that from now on they were all issued with hide cloaks for use during the winter months. Although there was not much more warmth in the tough leather, it did manage to keep out most of rain and would at least offer some protection against the wind. After all, unlike their Knight-Commander, the men under his command did not have the luxury of seeking shelter when the weather turned foul.

Saying that, the weather here was no-where near as bad it had been in Ferelden. The cold there was enough to make a man's piss freeze in his bladder! Thinking back, there had been days when he had been out on the walkways at the top of the Circle Tower, when the driving snow had been so thick he was unable to see his hand in front of his face. The last lookout of evening was always the duty that the younger templars dreaded, and Cullen had seemed to be stuck with it more often than not.

That was until he was assigned to the lower floors of course.

It took years of dedication to the martial and spiritual ideals of the Chantry before a templar was said to be ready to watch over the mages in his or her charge, and the day that Greagoir had stationed him in the apprentice quarters of Kinloch Hold, Cullen had been filled with an immense sense of pride. It was a real testament to the Knight-Commander's faith in him that he was entrusted to watch over the young apprentices for any signs of blood magic or demonic influence, and he had taken his responsibilities very seriously. What the mages lacked in discipline, they made up for in ability and they had to be closely watched to see that they did not become a danger to themselves or others.

At first, the days had been pleasantly routine. The apprentices seemed to fall into two categories...those who thought that being a mage gave them free licence to act in ways that would have raised eyebrows in polite society, and those who were studious, eager to learn and spent most of their days with their heads in a book.

Elleann Amell had been one of those students.

She had entered the Tower many years ago as a child and, if the gossip among the other templars was to be believed, she was already a powerful magic user. Her abilities in the entropic and death schools of magic had seen her rise to the top of her classes and earned her both the grudging respect of her seniors, and the fearful envy of her peers. As the years passed she became an accomplished student, and Greagoir had given orders that she was to be watched closely just in case the dark magic she practiced hid the shadowy presence of a demon, but he need not have worried. Amell was as dedicated to magic as Cullen was to the templar order and at first, it was her single-minded determination to strive to be the best that he admired so much.

Then it became so much more.

He wasn't certain when it happened, but very soon he began to notice the way her raven-black hair glistened in the candlelight. Then it was the way she smiled at him when she passed him in the corridor, and the way her hips swayed as she walked. On the face of it, it seemed to be nothing but a simple infatuation, but as time passed and they got to know one another, his feelings became stronger and it was harder to keep her from his thoughts. Even during the daily prayers, his mind was constantly wrenched from quiet contemplation of Andraste to the heated imaginings of things that should not be.

Looking back now, it was easy enough to see that his growing feelings for Amell were nothing more than the natural impulses of a young man who found himself so often in the company of a beautiful woman. Then, it had been so much easier to blame it on the effects of magic, rather than face the simple truth that he was falling in love with a mage.

She didn't feel the same of course, Cullen had found that out the hard way. Although she was always friendly enough, and seemed to actively seek out his company when she was not engrossed in her studies, he had misread the situation badly. A liaison in the tower storeroom had at first seemed to present an ideal opportunity to express how he felt about her. But the look on her face as he neared her, and the way she jumped out of her seat like a scalded cat, left no doubt as to his mistake. He felt like such a fool, as there had been a time when he thought there was definitely something between them, and it hurt to know that she did not feel the same way. It was not her fault, but back then his heart was not so easily convinced and as she continued to haunt his dreams, it was more convenient to continue to believe that magic was somehow involved rather than to acknowledge the fact that she was just not interested.

Indeed, it was that stupid, selfish belief that had led Cullen down a dark path of his own.

When it came to magic he had begun to doubt everything, especially the words and intentions of those who practiced it. This deep-rooted suspicion led to mistrust and eventually to an unwelcome hatred that threatened to consume his very being, so to dull those feelings he sought solace in the tenets of his faith and in the demands of his duty. Taking a few extra hours at night to contemplate the teachings of the Chantry, followed by a rigorous bout of early morning exercise in the training yard was just enough to clear his mind so that he could continue to function like the dedicated templar he wanted to be. It was tiring though, and he probably should have been aware of the effect that losing so much sleep was having on his physical and mental state, but at the time it seemed to be the only way forward.

All for the unrequited love of a woman...

But then she was gone.

Not long after her Harrowing, Amell had left Kinloch Hold and joined the ranks of the Grey Wardens. Though a part of him was desperately sad he would never see her again, another part of him rejoiced at the idea that she would no longer be around to haunt his waking hours. He decided to try to rediscover the inner peace that he had only so recently lost, and the hard work and dedication he had already put into his daily routine, became his own personal armour against the influences of magic as his heart became hardened against those who might wield it against him. Time and determination saw him becoming what he perceived to be the perfect templar, and this was reflected in the wary looks that the mages now gave him. It was deceptively empowering knowing that he commanded that type of respect, and the mages anxiety around him served only to bolster that belief.

But then Uldred came.

Maker's breath…

Looking back now, it seemed like an eternity ago that he had watched Kinloch Hold fall to the evils of blood magic. The speed with which everything had descended into chaos was more frightening than he could ever have imagined. Seeing his fellow templars being murdered, or falling to the vile corruptions of beguiling demons and their bloodmage lap-dogs had been nothing less than a living nightmare. It had been bad enough seeing the men he'd known and trained with for years suddenly becoming violent and uncontrollable killers, but watching them lose themselves to the hidden desires of their hearts was almost more than he could stand. It was as if years of training and devotion had been snuffed out in an instant, all for the madness of love and lust.

Not unlike the same madness he had struggled so hard to contain.

Sadly, the parallels between their torment, and the torment in his own heart had been another reason it had become so easy to hate mages, and it was that same hate that began to burn at almost unbearable levels when Uldred took him prisoner and let his maleficarum turn their own tainted magic upon him. Almost hourly, they taunted him with their lyrium-fuelled orgies, and summoned desire demons that stroked and caressed themselves while wearing the semblance of Amell's face…

A few times he had almost given into their temptations. It was so ceaselessly unrelenting that he wanted to lose himself in their illusions, to take the demon women and feel them writhe beneath him as he emptied his need into their bodies, but he had been strong and he had fought against it with every fibre of his being.

Amell would never have been so wanton, and neither would Cullen give in to his desires, he was better than that. Nonetheless, the torment continued, and every day he felt as if he had been violated both mentally and emotionally. It was only through sheer willpower alone that his mind held on to its tenuous grasp of reality, but with each passing moment he could feel himself slipping away.

Even when Senior Enchanter Wynne showed up with the _real_ Elleann Amell to free them all from the nightmare, he could not believe the evidence of his own eyes. It was not enough simply to see her and believe that his deliverance was at hand. It was as if she was only a part of the filth and corruption that had entered his heart and twisted his thoughts. Only after he had made a shameful confession to her did he realise she was truly standing before him. Somehow, despite everything going on around them, Elleann had appeared more beautiful and confidant than he could ever remember. He could still see her even now, bold and fearless as she climbed the stairs to the Harrowing chamber after he had pleaded with her to kill the remaining mages and end it all. She chose instead to ignore his words and opted to try and save not only the lives of his fellow templars, but also those surviving mages who were being held prisoner by the despised maleficarum.

In truth, how could he have expected anything else from her, but at the time he had been so broken and tormented by the agonies he had suffered at the hands of magic-users, it seemed to defy comprehension that she would take such a risk.

Why was it that mages seemed willing to readily sacrifice the safety of others for their own selfish ambitions? Was magic really so intoxicating and addictive that they would risk releasing abominations into the world rather than doing what was necessary to protect the innocent people around them? Why take that risk rather than cutting away that particular cancer by mercifully ending the lives of those who were infected?

Of course she had triumphed, not only defeating Uldred, his demons and the maleficarum, but also saving Irving and the other senior mages.

Problem was, as she escorted the exhausted First Enchanter down from the Chamber to meet with Knight-Commander Greagoir, Cullen had found himself following behind watching the old man intently for any signs of possession or intended evil. No one else seemed to be concerned about the potential for danger that still remained as long as the exposed mages remained alive, and it was as if the events of the past few days had been nothing more than a bad memory, but for him it was still all too real.

Afterwards, things did not exactly improve.

The nights were the worst. For months after surviving the horrors that were unleashed upon Kinloch hold, Cullen would often wake screaming and drenched in sweat. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see not only the wretched face of Uldred and his minions, but his dreams were also haunted by the vision of Elleann Amell, twisting and writhing as she beckoned to him in lustful abandon, only to become the soulless form of a desire demon mocking him with her shrill laughter. It became so bad that on some nights he could not tell if he was awake or not, and it was only when he felt the reassuring coldness of the stone floor beneath his feet that he could be certain he was free of the nightmare.

However, he was still a templar and despite all his difficulties, it was his duty to continue to serve the Chantry and watch over the mage apprentices of the Circle.

Once more, he found himself observing those mages in his charge. Every whispered conversation seemed to hide a secret meaning, each late-night meeting represented a possible gathering of maleficarum, and from the way the apprentices looked at him now, Cullen was becoming more and more certain that there was still a great evil within Kinloch Hold.

Greagoir had said that he was becoming paranoid and that his experiences with Uldred were affecting his mind, but Cullen had been so lost in the depths of his own inner turmoil that his words fell upon deaf ears.

Then, just as he was beginning to wonder if the Knight-Commander had the truth of it after all, he made a discovery that seemed to reinforce all his worst fears and suspicions.

There were three of them, young, foolish and inexperienced. Each one an apprentice only recently brought to the tower to begin their training. Whether it was the whispered promises of a demon, the temptation of power or simply the fact that they were not as experienced as some of the younger mages who had been there longer, the three had turned to blood magic to enhance their abilities. He didn't even remember exactly how he found them, only that their desperate protests of feigned innocence seemed to enrage him further as he slid his steely blade from its scabbard…

The horror that followed was better left to the flowing river of memory, though to this day it haunted him still.

Soon after the incident, and his last meeting in Kinloch hold with Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving, Cullen found himself sailing across the Waking Sea bound for Kirkwall docks. Greagoir had told him that he was to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith in the Gallows, the home of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi.

At first, it had seemed like he was being given an opportunity that he didn't deserve. He had heard that Meredith was a strong and capable templar, a proud warrior who had risen quickly through the ranks to achieve a position equal to that of Viscount Dumar himself. Further to that, if the rumours were true, it was actually Meredith who made all the important decisions in Kirkwall, leaving Dumar to act as nothing more than a glorified diplomat acting on her behalf.

He could still recall his first meeting with her. There was a natural aloofness to the Knight-Commander that was emphasised by her cold, hard appearance. Her eyes were a chilling blue that seemed to look right into the depths of his soul and her hair was blond almost to the point of being colourless. She seemed to wear an expression of perpetual disdain, though Cullen could only guess what was going on in that sharp mind of hers, and when she spoke it was as if the world stopped to listen, so great was the aura of respect that she commanded.

Still, she had welcomed him warmly enough and had been very interested to hear his account of the events that had led to his expulsion from Kinloch Hold. At first he had felt ashamed recounting the story of his personal failures, but as he told her of Uldred and of the tortures he had suffered at the hands of such a madman, Meredith's face had become utterly unreadable and her questioning ceased as she listened in contemplative silence. The only emotion she had showed was when he told her of his murder of the three young Blood Mages. Then her eyes had glittered like aquamarines, and she had risen from her chair and laid a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

'_You should never consider such true and worthy action as murder. You acted as a true Templar and did your duty both by the order, and by the teachings of Andraste herself. Never feel ashamed of doing what is right, Ser Cullen. You are everything a templar should be, and I foresee a great future ahead of you here in Kirkwall. A great future indeed.'_

At first, her words had stunned him and he had simply stared open mouthed as a comforting smile played across her pale lips, but then her veil of indifference had been drawn once more and she assigned him to the company of Knight-Captain Marrks.

Marrks had been real taskmaster, some even said that he was cruel. He was driven and hard and did not suffer fools, or mages, gladly. Each day he would see that the templars under his command were drilled in the arts of combat and in the teachings of the Chantry. He also ensured that they were made aware of the dangers of magic, and that every templar knew that a mage was often nothing more than a potential threat, and should be watched and controlled as much as possible. To Cullen's recovering mind, Marrks's disciplinarian approach to duty, and the extreme beliefs that he apparently shared with none other than the Knight-Commander herself, seemed to make so much sense that he found himself embracing this new approach to the treatment of mages, and began to wonder if it was the lack of such draconian measures that had led to the fall of Kinloch Hold.

Every day when new mages arrived at the Gallows and they were questioned and assessed not only by the First Enchanter, a pale skinned elf by the name of Orsino, but by the templars set to guard them just in case they were trying to hide something from their new guardians. When an apostate was brought before the Circle, no mercy was shown to them, as had often been the way in Ferelden. Here, they were brought before Meredith and Orsino and judged for their crimes without any hesitation whatsoever. If Meredith found that they were repentant and did not appear to pose a threat to others, then she would grudgingly surrender them into the charge of Orsino to be forcibly admitted into the Kirkwall Circle. If they did not show any signs of regret, or expressed nothing but contempt and disrespect to their captors, then the apostates would be made tranquil.

There had been no appeal.

So it continued and Cullen discovered new purpose with the templars of Kirkwall. Back in Ferelden, the Blight that had been ravaging the country but had eventually been ended by none other than Elleann Amell herself and she had gained nation-wide acceptance as the Warden-Commander Hero of Ferelden. It had made him smile to think of her doing so well, but when he heard that she had taken a lover, an Antivan elf who was apparently a former assassin, he could not ignore the momentary pang of regret that flickered in his heart.

Still, it did not burn as much as it once did and so he was able to acknowledge her happiness and move on with his own life.

He continued to impress his superiors with his diligence and dedication to duty and he was rewarded with rank and responsibility. Everything seemed to be falling into place and he was no longer haunted by the events of the past.

However, by the time he had reached the rank of Knight-Lieutenant, things began to change once more.

Some of his brothers and sisters in the order had begun to question the integrity of Knight-Captain Marrks, and ask Cullen whether he truly believed that Marrks was doing the work of Andraste, or simply hated mages and all things magic, abusing his position to oppress and persecute them without any real reason or justification. To start with, Cullen had spoken in his defence, certain that the Knight-Captain was a harsh but fair templar with nothing but the safety of those around him foremost in his mind, but then something happened on the Wounded Coast that changed that perception forever.

Knight-Commander Meredith had received word that a band of smugglers had been approached to help some apostate mages flee the Circle and escape the justice of the Templars. Marrks had been charged with apprehending these renegades and had ordered Cullen and a small squad of templars to accompany him to the Wounded Coast. An informer amongst the smugglers had told Marrks that the apostates would be gathering in one of the small caves at the base of the cliff, and he ordered Cullen and his men to take up ambush positions in order to surprise them and capture them before they could cast any offensive spells.

Soon enough, the group came into view and Cullen let out a sigh of relief. There would be no battle today. The apostates had turned out to be nothing more than a scared family, an anxious father, his pregnant wife and two children. They were magic-users definitely, but such a group would hardly pose a severe threat and would no doubt come along quietly when confronted by a group of templars.

Sure enough, when Marrks led his men down to the beach, the father threw up his hands in supplication and at once surrendered himself into templar custody, urging his wife to the same.

It should have ended there, it should have but it did not.

One of the children, a boy of no more than six or seven had panicked on seeing the armoured templars approaching and he turned to flee. His mother tried to grab him and lunged after the child with her hands spread wide to catch the hem of his tattered pants, but she was not fast enough.

Whether it was instinct or suspicion that motivated his actions, Knight-Captain Marrks reacted in a way that made Cullen's heart begin to pound in his chest. With a contemptuous grin, Marrks smashed his fist into the woman's face and then caught up with the boy in a few, short strides. He seized him by the shoulders and spun him around before hauling the lad off his feet and throwing him to the ground beside his weeping mother. She gathered the terrified boy up into her arms, as if that simple action alone could fend off the attention of the large templar, but Marrks just sneered and drew his great-sword.

'_See how they run_.' He had rasped. '_Just like frightened little rabbits, and that's just what they're like you know, men.'_ Then he held his blade level with the family and shook his head in disgust. '_Magic users are just like rabbits, they'll breed unchecked if we let them. See how this bitch has already whelped two and has one on the way. Aye, she'll not be so keen for it once they've made her tranquil. Process will probably kill the one in her womb, but it's one less for us to deal with, eh?_'

Cullen's eyes had scanned the faces of his fellow templars as they watched the scene unfolding before them. Some of them had laughed, amused by the Knight-Captain's sickening words, but the others had kept their expressions carefully frozen, hiding their feelings behind a façade of indifference. It was the look in their eyes that betrayed them though.

Maker knows, Cullen had seen that very same look of shame and regret reflected in the mirror every day when he shaved.

'_Please. Serah._' The woman had begged as she wiped at the blood trickling from her spilt and swollen lip. '_Please, we will come with you only do not talk of such things. You're frightening the children. They are innocents in this.'_

'_Only until they become abominations!'_ Marrks had snarled. '_Maybe it's better to kill them now and be done with it…'_

'_No!' _

Cullen was roughly shoved aside as the father pushed past him to reach his threatened family. Marrks's face became an angry grimace as he turned to face this potential threat and then it was as if the wrath of the nine hells had been unleashed. Cullen could only look on hopelessly as the Knight-Captain became a living pillar of flame and he gagged as the greasy smell of charred flesh filled the air. The woman and her children screamed in fear as those templars not struck senseless by the magical shockwave that pulsed out from her shaking body, advanced with swords drawn and deathly intent in their hearts.

Thinking quickly, Cullen focused all his power into one deep, cleansing burst and purged the area of all magical effects. Marrks dropped instantly to the ground, his armour glowing red-hot and his skin like blackened parchment. The woman looked on in shock as she was surrounded by a wall of swords and she shrank back against the ground, fearful sobs wracking her body. The father, seeing his spell disrupted by what he must have perceived as another templar out for mage blood was on the verge of preparing another, but Cullen held his sword to the man's throat and shook his head.

'_Think before you act, man. The lives of your family depend on it_.'

A meaningful look toward the men surrounding the terrified family seemed to quell his anger and the apostate nodded slowly.

Then Cullen ordered his men to hold position as he knelt beside the ruined form of the Knight-Captain. Hatred and spite seemed to be the only things keeping him alive and his lips cracked and bled as he tried to hurl bitter abuse at the apostate, but it was obvious even to him that his time was done. There was no amount of healing that would cure the burns that in some places had fused his armour to his skin.

'_End it_…' Marrks had rasped, bloody froth pooling at the corners of his mouth. '_End it quickly. Not for them though…kill them slow…make them fucking suffer for this…make them…fuck…_'

The rest of his words were lost to a gurgling, violent cough and for that Cullen was almost relieved, but not enough to keep from being startled as a gauntleted hand was laid upon his shoulder.

'_You know what must be done, Ser_.' Said the templar who sought to reassure him, an older man with black hair and sad eyes. '_We have a duty, both to the Knight-Captain and to…to these poor souls._'

'_Poor souls?_ _These vile abominations should all die for their crimes_.' Said another. '_Suffer not the maleficar to live, so sayeth the Chantry's own laws_.'

'_Abominations, hardly! They are children for Andraste's sake…_'

'_Children grow Lukas, and when the demons within them slaughter your family, then you will not be so…_'

'_Be silent!_' Cullen ordered, finding that his heart and his head had come to a decision much quicker than he could ever have expected. '_With the Knight-Captain incapacitated, I am now in command here and I will do my duty as a Templar! I also expect no less of all of you!_'

The authority in his tone and the commanding gaze he swept over them all had stunned them into silence and the templars obeyed without any further question or complaint. He ordered the woman and her children to be taken to the Gallows to await their fate at the hands of Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino. No doubt, the children would be tested for any magical ability and if found capable, would be schooled in the art of magic under the strict tutelage of the Circle of Magi. As for the woman, she would be cared for by the Sisters of the Chantry until her baby was due to be born. After that things were less certain, but there was a slim chance that she too could be accepted by the Circle, if Meredith did not order her made tranquil. Cullen hoped she would not and volunteered to speak to the Knight-Commander on her behalf. Whether it would do any good was another matter entirely.

As for the father, alas there could be no such mercy and he knew it. The apostate had willingly attacked a templar, displaying a knowledge of elemental powers that left unchecked could represent a possible danger to them all. After Cullen had spoken to the woman, the apostate had looked at him with a curious expression and then slowly nodded his head as if to acknowledge his fate. Indeed, he made no further protestations, nor signs of resistance even when asked to prepare himself to meet the Maker. He simply knelt upon the ground and whispered a quick prayer before closing his eyes to await the kiss of cold steel.

Cullen made sure that his execution was quick and painless.

As for Knight-Captain Marrks, he could feel the outraged sense of betrayal that radiated from the man. He tried to speak again, disgust lending strength to his ruined lungs but Cullen was no longer willing to listen to his hateful rhetoric. With a single thrust, he slid his knife blade up between the Knight-Captain's ribs and pierced his heart. It was the humane thing to do, although Cullen couldn't help but feel that he did not deserve such a merciful death. The man had finally shown himself for a bigot and a bully, and it was to Cullen's shame that he had so easily bought into the extremist views that the man had so readily shared with all the young templars under his command.

Maybe the next Knight-Captain would prove to be a better man.

Upon his return to the Gallows, Cullen had been summoned to appear before Knight-Commander Meredith and the First Enchanter to give an account of his conduct. A part of him had wanted to denounce Marrks for his part in bringing about an unnecessary conflict, but he was all too aware of the heightened tension in the room as he began to recount his version of events, and the guarded look in Meredith's eyes was enough to make him choose his words carefully. Orsino had tried to pick apart his story, looking for any excuse to bring the order into disrepute, but Cullen had simply told the truth as far as his duty would allow and eventually even the old, elven Enchanter had seemed satisfied and left to deal with other matters.

It was only then that Knight-Commander Meredith had fixed him with that cold stare of hers and stated '_Tell me everything._'

He would never forget that hour spent in her presence, going over and over the events leading up to Knight-Captain Marrks's death. Every word, every action and every decision was examined down to the finest detail. Meredith had interrogated him until his head was spinning and she was relentless in her pursuit of the truth. He had confessed to her that he believed the actions of Knight-Captain Marrks were motivated more by hatred than by duty, and he also expressed his willingness to speak on the victim's behalf and appeal for clemency. Meredith had listened intently until she finally sat back in her chair and watched him over her steepled fingers, but then it was as if she had silently come to a decision and she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

In the time that followed, Knight-Captain Marrks's remains were recovered and his ashes were interred in the Gallows Chapel with full templar honours.

After being subjected to a bout of rigorous testing, one of the apostate's children was found lacking in magical ability and given into the care of the Chantry to be placed in one of their orphanages. The other was admitted to the Circle of Magi in Ostwick on the grounds that it was better for the child to have a completely fresh start away from the harrowing events that had transpired in Kirkwall. As for the mother, her minor magical abilities meant that after giving birth to healthy baby girl, she was made tranquil in order to protect herself and others from harm and to lessen the pain from the loss of her family.

All on the orders of Knight-Commander Meredith herself…

After 'due consideration of the facts' of course.

It was not long after that, Cullen had found himself appointed to the vacant position of Knight-Captain as a reward for his due diligence and devotion to duty. Whether that was really the case, or whether it was a way of ensuring his continued silence over the whole Marrks incident, it was something that troubled him during all his time serving under Meredith.

As years passed, the Knight-Commander's power grew. She seemed to control not only the templar garrison in the Gallows, but most of Kirkwall itself, and even Viscount Dumar was loathe to challenge her. Naturally as her influence continued to spread, so First Enchanter Orsino found himself in direct conflict with her, openly denouncing her treatment of all magic-users and claiming that she was bitter and paranoid, driven only by her hatred of mages. Initially Cullen had tried to believe in the integrity of the order, tried to believe that Meredith was only acting in the best interests of those men under her command and the mages in her charge. However, after the Qunari attack on the city resulted in the death of the Viscount, there followed a series of events that shattered any remaining illusions that he clung to in respect of the Knight-Commander.

The power struggle between Meredith and Orsino reached new and dangerous heights, and if not for Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, the city would have torn itself apart.

Ironically, it was the action taken by one of Hawke's own companions, an apostate healer named Anders, that was the catalyst for the death and destruction that followed. The man was an abomination of the worst kind, and he created a powerful, magical explosion that was designed to cause as much devastation as possible, and tip the scales in the brewing templar/mage conflict, forcing a confrontation that had so long been avoided. In a single, desperate act, he destroyed not only the city Chantry, but also took the lives of the Grand Cleric, the attending sisters, and also all the citizens, devotees and worshippers within that great building.

It was said that Hawke had been furious, in a rage beyond rage, and yet he did not kill the murderer. Anders had believed in freedom for all mages, and as an open apostate himself, perhaps Hawke felt some kinship with the renegade. The two were said to be lovers, which certainly explained his reluctance to immediately bring the rebel to justice, but when both Orsino and Meredith used the act of terror as an excuse to openly attack each other, then the hells broke loose.

First Meredith had declared that the Circle was corrupt, and that she was invoking the Rite of Annulment. All mages were to be made tranquil or slaughtered, irrespective of the fact that they had nothing to do with the treacherous renegade and his insidious plans. Of course Orsino had fought back, loudly proclaiming his innocence, and the innocence of those in the Circle, demanding Meredith consider justice instead of vengeance. Naturally Hawke and his companions had sided with the First Enchanter, as even a fool could see the Knight-Commander was wrong, but they could not have foreseen that the elder, elven mage would turn to blood magic in his desperation, transforming into a Harvester that attacked ally and enemy alike. So it was that Hawke was forced to slay the very man he had tried to protect for the good of all.

Following that tragedy, it became obvious that the Knight-Commander had finally lost her grip on what little sanity she had remaining. She saw blood magic everywhere, in the face of every mage, in the face of the Champion and even in the faces of those templars who dared to question her. Her paranoia was so great, that anyone who would not stand with her was considered tainted and corrupt, and worthy only of an agonising death granted by her magical blade…a blade made from raw, red lyrium that itself was as twisted and poisonous as the woman now wielding it.

Unwilling to stand by and see any more innocents slaughtered in the name of the Maker, Cullen had finally stepped forward and challenged Meredith, along with the Champion and his allies, what was left of the City Guard and those templars who like him, could no longer pretend that what they were doing was the Maker's will.

The persecution, the hatred, the butchery…it had to end.

After a long and bitter struggle, where the true depth of Meredith's corruption was revealed in the way she fought not only with the lyrium blade, but with supernatural powers beyond that of _any_ templar or mage, it was finally over. All that remained of the Knight-Commander was a smoking, blackened, ruin in the centre of the Gallows courtyard.

As for the Champion, Hawke fled Kirkwall taking the renegade with him. Of his remaining allies, some stayed, while others left to follow their own paths. The templar garrison was left in tatters, directionless, doubting and without a leader, and the Circle of Magi was now nothing more than a shadow of what it had been. The city itself was torn and divided, the ruined Chantry like an open, festering wound in the heart of all its citizens that seemed to radiate discontent and fear. So when the news finally reached Cullen that he was to assume command of both the templar garrison and the city, at least until a new Viscount could be appointed, he had received it with a heavy heart but accepted for the greater good of all.

There were so many questions in his mind, and so many challenges to face in the days ahead but one thing was for certain, he would not make the same mistakes as Meredith Stannard.

Acting Knight-Commander Cullen had learned his lessons well.

* * *

"A courier brought this message for you, Knight-Commander."

"What…?" Cullen's mind snapped forcibly back to his current situation as he became aware of the younger, sandy-haired templar handing him a leather wallet. "Oh, thank you, Ser Hugh. I was miles away, bad memories, you know. I find they have a habit of creeping up on you."

"They do at that, Ser. Especially with recent events and all." Hugh's sympathetic face was momentarily illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightening and as if on cue, the rain began to really pour down. "It's almost as if Andraste herself was weeping, is it not? I fear we are indeed in for one hell of storm over Kirkwall tonight."

"Just tonight?" Cullen heard himself muttering then shrugged. "My apologies, Hugh. I fear the weather has left me ill-humoured and in need of a warm fire and a good night's sleep."

"I understand, Knight-Commander." Ser Hugh nodded and pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders as Cullen slipped the missive from the wallet and scanned the contents. "So is there to be any reply, Ser?"

"No." He answered quickly as he folded up the message and slipped it beneath his armour. "No reply."

"Very good, Ser." Hugh said and then looked at him curiously. "Forgive me Knight-Commander, but is everything alright?"

"Yes, fine." Sighing deeply, Cullen looked up into the stormy sky. "Make sure the courier has a hot bowl of broth before he leaves. Though the rain has been heavy enough, I feel the worst is yet to come."

"Yes, Ser." Hugh crossed his arms over his chest in salute. "Maker watch over you, Knight-Commander."

"And you."

After waiting until the young knight was half-way across the courtyard, Cullen removed the message from his armour and once more read the words that were written on the creamy paper.

'_To the current occupant of the office of the Viscount_

_Although we understand that your fair city has suffered much in recent times, alas there is a pressing matter which demands our urgent attention._

_Thus I will be travelling to Kirkwall in the hope that I can meet with you to discuss the issue further._

_With sincerest respect,_

_Elleann Amell, Warden-Commander of Ferelden'_

Elleann Amell…

Standing there in the archway with the rain lashing against the ancient stones and the wind howling like a savage beast deprived of his prey, Cullen found himself shocked and yet strangely amused.

In that very moment, there had never been more truth than in the old saying.

It never rains, but it pours…


End file.
